


By Your Side

by Siver



Category: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 16:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13344723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siver/pseuds/Siver
Summary: 'Nothing makes sense and he needs to move and get out of this pool of water that’s really only a puddle, which is all a bit insulting, and… and do things. It’s all surely doable if the weights would lift from his limbs and the pain would just stop. 'Cabanela got shot but Jowd is there for him...A piece done for Ghost Swap exchange over on Tumblr for a prompt of a wounded Cabanela in Jowd's arms and Jowd being there for him.





	By Your Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laughingpineapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughingpineapple/gifts).



Heat radiates through him. It’s a burning heat despite the chill of the icy rain pouring down and it makes no sense. Water fills his mouth – cold, gritty. There’s a hint of something metallic and he’s sure that’s probably a bad sign, but he can’t for the life of him think why. The only clear thought occurring to him seems to ring comically loud through his mind given the situation. Don’t drown in a gods-damn puddle.

He manages to turn his head with a feeble cough and there’s still water lapping at his mouth, but he can breathe, sort of. It hurts, but there’s air and that counts, doesn’t it?

Nothing makes sense and he needs to move and get out of this pool of water that’s really only a puddle, which is all a bit insulting, and… and do things. It’s all surely doable if the weights would lift from his limbs and the pain would just stop.

Then something touches him and he tenses at an expected blow. Instead someone takes a firm but gentle hold of him and he’s slowly turned over and now there’s water seeping through to his back and all he can really think is that his coat is going to be a mess. There’s a voice. Sounds urgent. It takes a moment to parse what the voice is saying until he realizes it’s his name: Cabanela.

Opening his eyes has never taken so much effort before. He is far more tired than he is used to and it isn’t until he realizes with a sudden gripping fear that he’s sinking into a fog that he forces his eyes open with a painful gasp that lances through his stomach. He squints against the pounding rain and Jowd’s face, wearing too deep of a frown, floats above him. Don’t look so wooorried, baby…

“Got shot,” Cabanela mumbles in an attempt at explanation. And he knows this. He knew it shortly after it happened and he found himself face down in the puddle with no recollection of how he went from standing to not. Yet, now he’s said it, it feels so much more real and a shudder goes through him, bringing another jolt of pain with it.

“Yes,” Jowd replies before leaving his view and his voice seems distant.

Cabanela reaches out with a heavy arm and grasps air. He wouldn’t leave him like this. Not Jowd. It’s not right. Well, failing that he can still see what’s going on. No sense in lying around if he can get his arms and legs to work together. Just push himself up – not so difficult if he ignores the shaking – and… and try not to black out at the sudden surge of pain and he’s flat out again with a scolding sort of sound from somewhere close by.

Then something is being put over him. Coat. It’s Jowd’s coat and now Jowd’s arm is wrapping around his shoulders and easing him up against him. His breath hisses through clenched teeth at the movement, but Jowd’s warmth is most welcome.

“I’ve got you.”

“Kneeew you wouldn’t go…” Obvious simple fact. How silly of anyone to think otherwise.

“I can’t say that was my intention.”

“Course not, baby. And… one liiittle bullet’s nothin’. Not leeeavin’ you either.” He looks down at himself and frowns. Gods above he must look a sight, half sprawled across the pavement and half in Jowd’s arms. He’s soaked and from the spreading warmth it’s not just water. He nudges at Jowd’s coat that suddenly seems the most important thing. “Gonna make a meeess.”

Jowd’s hand stops his and he pulls him closer. Oh, that’s good. There’s a good chest to lean against. His hands are like ice, but Jowd’s is warm. It’s… better. There’s better-ness. Maybe the trembling will stop too.

“I’ll manage,” Jowd says. “You’re making little enough sense without hypothermia.”

“Aaalways make sense. Not my problem when others don’t seeee…”

“Right...”

Jowd releases his hand and that’s not so good. The reassuring shoulder squeeze would be good if it didn’t herald Jowd placing his hand over the wound and Cabanela flinches as he puts more pressure on it.

“Easy…” Jowd says.

Was there something easy about this? Did he miss a memo? The hand holding was better in every sense and he would like a refund please and thank you. However, a vague thought reminds him this is somehow important too, so he lets it slide. 

An infinitely more important thought trickles its way as slowly as it is urgent through his brain and what right does thinking have to take so much effort?

“You’re okay baby?”

“I’m fine.”

Except Jowd’s mouth is turned down and his brow is furrowed and that doesn’t _look_ fine at all. “Suuure?”

Jowd raises an eyebrow and he’s almost smiling. It’s not exactly a happy smile and Cabanela senses the incoming sarcasm, but it would do.

“I’m not the one who jumped in the way of a bullet and took a shallow dive. You might want to reconsider your choices in sport.”

And is it hiiis fault the world tipped him over? He manages to wave a dismissive hand and hopes it looks less weak than it feels. “I’m fiiine baby. I told you I’m not leavin’ you.”

One lump of metal is nothing, never mind that it felt like it burned through his insides and dumped him into the puddle. There are other matters to tie up and steering thoughts away from that bullet sounds vastly more appealing.

“Got him?” he asks.

“We got him. An ambulance will be here soon.”

“That’s you. Whoosh in and steal my credit.”

“Are you complaining?” Now there’s a lopsided smile in that beard swimming above him. Jerk.

“Can have it baby. Next one’s miiine…”

And right now it’s simply too hard to argue. His thoughts keep running away from him. There’s too much rain. That much is clear. He tucks his face into Jowd’s chest in an attempt at shielding himself from the stinging drops. Jowd should have brought his umbrella. He has plenty. He saw to that himself. So, what was he thinking?

“Why not?”

A long pause, very long. Why is Jowd being so slow now? He isn’t the one who got shot.

“Why not what?” Jowd asks and what kind of question is that?

His words feel thick and sluggish, but if he can keep talking maybe he can keep dancing out of reach of the fog threatening to pull him down. “You didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Another pause then Jowd’s tone is light despite this very serious matter.

“I just can’t seem to get the knack for predicting rain. Sorry.”

Keep talking, keep talking; it would be far easier if his voice would stop getting caught in his throat. “It’s cold…” he finally mutters. It’s not at all what he intended, but there’s just too much. Too much cold, too much shaking, too much pain and burning and numb and confusion.

Jowd’s arm tightens around him, hugging him closer. The rain is a curtain across his blurring vision; he’s losing this fight, drifting. Jowd’s heart sounds a steady and reassuring beat in his ears. Maybe falling into the rising fog wouldn’t be so bad and Jowd is so very warm and safe…

Jowd frowns down when he feels Cabanela go limp in his arms, face sickly pale and hair plastered to his forehead. While he always thinks he looks as if a stiff wind could blow him over he had never felt it before. Now it’s unsettling how frail he looks and feels.

The sound of an ambulance approaches and Jowd tries to force away some of his tension. He will be all right. An explosion couldn’t stop him. One bullet doesn’t stand a chance.

Later Jowd wonders if he stands much chance against the man’s drug induced incoherence and subsequent crankiness. His exasperation fades quickly against the thought of the alternative. An incoherent Cabanela is an alive Cabanela and a grumpy Cabanela is, perhaps, too much of an alive Cabanela. All would be well and would remain so.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so fun to write and I may have kinda obsessed over it some (down to the last minutes before posting). Thank you for the event and thank for you being an inspiration <3


End file.
